


Sent and Delivered

by rhetoricalrogue



Category: The Wayhaven Chronicles (Interactive Fiction)
Genre: Epistolary, F/M, Fluff, love letter series
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-05
Updated: 2020-09-18
Packaged: 2021-03-07 02:54:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,627
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26299741
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rhetoricalrogue/pseuds/rhetoricalrogue
Summary: A series of letters written to and from Nate Sewell and Rowena Kingston
Relationships: Female Detective/Nathaniel "Nate" Sewell
Comments: 14
Kudos: 28
Collections: A series of familiar letters





	1. Chapter 1

**Letter to** **one Detective Rowena Kingston, from Agent Nathaniel Sewell, written on a WPD notepad Nate found in Rowena’s apartment in vibrantly pink gel ink from the only working pen he could locate:**

My dearest Rowena,

You are asleep, and I should be beside you, taking the opportunity to commit the feeling of your body against mine, the soft sighs you breathe in slumber, the way you reach out to me, even while dreaming, to memory. Yet I find myself compelled to write, to memorialize this quiet midnight moment between us for you to find later.

It is not fair, my darling, that I’m forced to leave your side so soon after finding you. For the first time in all the years I have served the Agency, I feel resentment for them interrupting my happiness.  _ Our _ happiness. I’ll only be away for a month and normally that short span of time would be but a blink of an eye to me, but I have a feeling that without you at my side, it will feel like an eternity before I’m able to be back in your arms.

You look so peaceful, moonbeams highlighting the curve of your cheek and your hair spilled out over the pillow. The word ethereal comes to mind as I look at you now, and although I agree with the definition that you are far too perfect for this world, I am forever grateful that you are a part of it. That you have chosen to be here, that you have chosen _me_. Should I ever live to be a thousand, I hope that this moment, these emotions you stir in me, dear heart, never fade.

But enough talk. There are hours left before I’m scheduled to leave - I’d rather spend them holding you in my arms instead of merely gazing upon your beauty from afar.

Yours, now and always,

Nate

P.S. - Don’t worry about tea or pastries while I’m gone. I  _ may _ have prepaid for an entire month of your favorites at Haley’s. I seem to remember you mentioning that you’d be mine forever, so long as I bought you breakfast.

-N

P.P.S. - I love you.


	2. Chapter 2

**Reply letter from Detective Rowena Kingston to one Agent Sewell, hastily scribbled on the back of a grocery list in blue ink that skips every few letters, as the pen is extremely low in ink. Letter was found in his jacket pocket after being slipped there while Rowena kissed him goodbye:**

Nathaniel. Nate.  ~~ Sweetest man in the world and no I’m not saying it because you gave me free food for a month. ~~

I wish I were half as talented as you are at words and languages. I wish I could tell you in so many different ways how happy you make me, how lucky I feel to have you in my life.  ~~ How long I’ve waited to be picked first, to be told that I’m loved ~~

You’re in the shower and I’m missing you already. You have  _ no _ idea how tempting it is to join you right now, but you only have a little while before you need to leave and if I did, you’d  _ definitely _ be late. I don’t want to lose the scent of you on my skin, of you in my bed. I’m going to be upset once the marks you left on my body fade and count the days when you’re back to leave a visible reminder of your touch again. If you think this month is going to go by slow, it’s going to be absolute torture for me. I’ve gotten used to you here, in Wayhaven, in my life. Your absence is going to leave a 6’4” void and nothing will feel right until  ~~ I can hold your hands make lo ~~ you’re back. 

Just so you know, (and because you’ll find this letter long after you leave) I hated saying goodbye, but I’m going to remember the way you looked at me and that wonderful, brilliant, _gorgeous_ smile of yours and not feel so alone.

Yours, so,  _so completely_ yours,

Rowena

P.S. - I hope you don’t mind, but I’m planning on raiding your closet to  ~~ steal ~~ borrow one of your sweaters for any rough, stressful days that come around. I may not have you near, but I can pretend you’re holding me (have I told you that you give the best hugs? You never fail to make me feel safe and anything that troubles me always feels a little more bearable in your arms.)

P.P.S. - If it makes the hours go by faster, imagine me wearing your sweater- and _only_ your sweater - to bed. If the mental image inspires anything, I’m only a phone call away.

P.P.P.S. - I love you too.  _ Oh, how much I love you. _

-R


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day however many Nate’s away leads to some desperately missing his detective thoughts he puts on paper.

**Letter to Rowena Kingston, from Nate Sewell, unsent, written on thick ecru stationery in dark, purplish-black ink**

My darling Rowena,

(Have I mentioned how much I adore being able to write that?)

I regret to inform you that the location we are currently in does not have a reliable post, therefore I cannot get any messages to you until we move areas again. There is no telling when that will be, but the moment I am able to locate a speedy postal service, you’ll be inundated with a mountain of letters to make up for the dearth during this time. I refuse to stop writing to you merely because I am unable to send you anything: I shall sit upon my hoard as fiercely as any dragon. (Because I know you’re going to ask, no, I have not seen a dragon firsthand, but I have heard stories from other agents.)

Farah is laughing at me because she found my supply of letter writing materials while unpacking what she thought was her bag - my bag is  _ clearly _ marked with my initials, she was being nosy - and told me that if I did want to keep in touch with you, an email or text would be faster than any letter.

I told her that it isn’t the same, not by any stretch of the imagination. There is no smooth glide or scratch of pen nib against paper, no tactile feel of the page under my fingertips, no heavy weight to anchor my thoughts. Had I gone with her suggestion, my words would float, adrift and aimless amid the digital current, and I could only hope I spelled your email address correctly so that they find you  ~~ and not your mother. ~~

No, I much prefer to speak to you this way, to hope your fingers trace over the slight indentations my pen leaves, to imagine your touch bringing my words to life. The knowledge that you’re able to hold my words just as easily as your hands hold my heart brings me such a sense of quiet peace that I can’t find a word to properly describe it.

**Note: it seems as if the letter was stopped and then picked up at a later date, as the ink has changed from the previous color to a velvety, dark green.**

I am a fool. I am a damned fool. I can’t even blame this on alcohol because it's impossible for me to get drunk, but how I wish I could. Losing myself in drink might dull the pain of missing you.

Perhaps I  _ am _ drunk: drunk and lost in this longing to be near you, to hear your voice, to touch you and feel your warmth. I keep reading that last letter you slipped in my pocket and the image of you in nothing but my sweater is driving me mad. Tell me, my darling. Tell me that you ache as much as I do with this distance between us. When you wear my clothing, do you imagine me there with you? Do you ever slide your hands over your body, imagining my touch? Has my name graced your lips as you bring yourself pleasure in the long hours of the night?

Would you think less of me if I were to do the same? Or would it please you to know that your words have such an intense effect on me that it would prove impossible to not touch myself here at my desk, my mind imagining your fingers grasping me? That I ruined a page of another letter I was in the process of sending you by absently dragging my forearm across still-wet ink as I tried to brace myself while I used my other hand to stroke myself, your name sweet on my tongue? That I fantasize about having  _ you _ atop this desk, ink-stained and love-bitten and absolutely, utterly satisfied? (because, my dearest heart of hearts, that crooked little smile you give and way you still reach for me after, spent and replete, have been seared into my memory. Each time you’ve gifted me with that smile of yours has made my heart soar.)

It has been the longest few weeks of my life. You have no idea how tempting it is to brave the ever treacherous waters of that digital sea, if only to have one brief glimpse of the lighthouse that guides me back to your welcoming shore.

Oh my love, how I ache for you.

Nate

* * *

**Text from Morgan to Rowena, with the above letter attached as an image**

Send him a pic of ur tits already. The 3 of us r out from 7-10 pm ur time every night. Put him out of his misery with some good phone sex

Or if u don’t, send ME a pic of ur tits so I can cope. This whole lovelorn sighing is bs, jsyk. Next time, you’re coming w/us, k?


End file.
